


don't stop until your heart goes numb

by mongoliabun



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoliabun/pseuds/mongoliabun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hartley Rathaway hates surprises — unless, of course, the surprise involves Cisco Ramon shoving him onto his bed and commanding he take off his clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't stop until your heart goes numb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Randstad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randstad/gifts).



> This is mostly self-indulgent smut and dedicated entirely to my good pal Randy who I will be seeing in Hell tbh. There's some Spanish littered here and there (helpfully translated by Izumi_Silverleaf after the atrocity that was Google Translate), which you'll be able to hover over for translation. I'm pretty sure this is also the first ever Cisco/Hartley fic on AO3 and I'd just like to say I regret absolutely nothing. Also, unedited, so please forgive any weird typos.

Hartley Rathaway hates surprises — unless, of course, the surprise involves Cisco Ramon shoving him onto his bed and commanding he take off his clothes. It's not exactly something Hartley ever anticipated coming from Cisco, considering their last intimate encounter ended with Hartley being shoved into a wall, and not at all in the fun way, either. They haven't spoken about it or even acknowledged the sexual tension between them since then; Hartley assumes Cisco has been pretending it never happened, which might hurt his feelings if he didn't also know that Cisco avoiding him at all costs can only mean Cisco is thinking about it more than he'd like to admit. It's a win in Hartley's book, at least by a technicality. 

The idea wasn't necessarily to get in Cisco's pants immediately — he's not _stupid_ ; he knew Cisco would be a challenge. They are supposed to hate each other, after all. And, yes, Cisco still infuriates him more than he can possibly put into words, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't get off on purposefully initiating and perpetuating conflict between them. As fast as the Flash might be on his feet, he's a total moron intellectually, and nowhere near the level Hartley needs him to be to actually enjoy toying with him when it isn't in the capacity of hero versus supervillain (which is a title he finds flattering and offensive at the same time; it certainly strokes his ego to know people think so highly of him and his endeavors against the Flash, but he isn't _really_ the bad guy here). 

Cisco, on the other hand, has always been on his level, has always been able to keep up with him in a way the Flash or anyone other than Harrison Wells never could. It's that reason alone that's caused so much friction between the two of them — Hartley underestimated Cisco's intelligence, but rather than admit he was impressed and that Cisco wasn't as stupid as Hartley thought he should be, continuing to undermine Cisco at every turn, just to watch him flare his defenses, became a lot more entertaining, and the prime source of most of Hartley's amusement. It's never _boring_ with Cisco, maybe because Cisco always gives him something to work with. 

It's not really Hartley's fault Cisco doesn't understand the concept that _ignoring_ him is the best way to get him to stop. Caitlin told him as much the first day they met, but that's Cisco's problem: he doesn't listen. Hartley couldn't even count on one hand the number of times he's heard someone tell Cisco "just ignore him," "don't let him get to you" — but he knows it's never really that easy, not when he can tell there's part of Cisco that _likes_ the challenge Hartley presents him. He knows it would be easier for Cisco to write him off entirely if Hartley weren't exactly the adversary Cisco's faced his whole life and therefore feels compelled to continue fighting back because giving up is giving into what everyone thinks Hartley wants.

But what they don't know is the endgame isn't proving himself superior over Cisco; maybe it had been at one time, but the game has changed since then and Cisco continues to find new ways to surprise him. 

Hartley hadn't expected a follow up of this nature, an unexpected show of aggression and dominance from Cisco rare enough that all Hartley can do is stare, breathlessly and impressed, his heart picking up pace in his chest like it's suddenly decided to run the six-hundred meter dash. There's a tug at the corner of his mouth as his lips part slightly, his eyes hard set on Cisco climbing toward him on his knees. "I knew you couldn't stop thinking about me," he coos, pushing himself onto his elbows in an attempt to close the distance between them.

Cisco shoves him back down again with an almost guttural, " _Shut up_."

Hartley finds it hard not to laugh, both at the absurdity of the situation and the fact that Cisco thinks Hartley will ever shut up on command alone. "What are you going to do to me, Cisco? There's so much you think I deserve, but if this is supposed to be a punishment, you might want to reconsider your method. It's not supposed to be _enjoyable_."

The look Cisco gives him is downright murderous — or it would be if Hartley thought Cisco were at all capable of taking someone else's life. "I said _shut up_ , Hartley," Cisco says tersely, his eyes boring into Hartley's as if he's trying to convince himself he actually wants to go through with this. Hartley would only object if he didn't. "Take off your pants."

Hartley raises his eyebrows, intrigued and, admittedly, aroused by the direction this is taking. "That's awfully forward, isn't it, _Cisquito_?"

" _Don't_ call me that," Cisco growls, shifting his knee hard between Hartley's thighs, eliciting a gasp from Hartley that still somehow manages to sound borderline condescending. "Just do it, or I'm leaving." He shouldn't even be here in the first place, but Hartley was willing to make an exception for such an _old friend_. How Cisco found his apartment isn't really the issue — Cisco _leaving_ is Hartley's concern, considering that will only make matters between them worse, or at least _unresolved_ , in Hartley's case.

"And here I thought _you_ were the romantic one," Hartley croons, shaking his head in mock disappointment, but he does as he's told, anyway. He deliberately takes his time, just so he can watch Cisco watching _him_ , carefully wiggling out of his restrictive clothes. Honestly, he'd be lying if he said he didn't like this side of Cisco, the side that knows exactly what he wants and how to get it, and while Hartley could easily turn the tables here, he's more interested to see how this plays out — even if it doesn't end up going the way Hartley wants it to (he doubts it, not with the way Cisco is staring at him with an almost animalistic hunger in his eyes). He cocks an eyebrow then, noticing the lack of movement Cisco makes in removing his own clothing. "Don't tell me you're keeping yours on," he says flatly. "You have me at your mercy. I wouldn't waste that —"

 _Opportunity_ is what he'd been about to say if Cisco hadn't cut him off, diving toward him, their mouths crashing against each other like waves against rock. It's sloppy, unrefined, inexperienced, but it's more aggressive than anything else, Cisco's teeth clacking against Hartley's before he drags them over Hartley's bottom lip, tugging at it almost like a dog with a chew toy. "You really don't know how to shut up," he breathes, hot and heavy against Hartley's mouth, which is unsurprisingly curved into a smirk.

"It got you to kiss me, didn't it?" Hartley says, positively proud of himself. Cisco might think he's in control of this situation, but Hartley knows exactly how to manipulate Cisco into playing right into his hand. "There are better ways to shut me up, though ... and I think you already have an idea."

"Yeah, I do," Cisco huffs and rolls his hips into Hartley's, the rough texture of Cisco's jeans rubbing against Hartley's bare cock enough to make him groan in response as he buries a hand in Cisco's hair and _tugs_.

" _No te irás hasta que esté gritando tu nombre y rogando por más_ ," he hisses into Cisco's ear, a promise more than it is a threat. Cisco can play the teasing game all he likes, but they both know this can only end one way — Cisco wouldn't be here at all, grinding his hips hard against Hartley's and biting at the skin of Hartley's neck, if he didn't already know that.

" _Me iré cuando quiera_ ," Cisco replies firmly between a series of sucking and biting at Hartley's neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. Hartley's breath hitches and his fingers tug harder at Cisco's hair while his other hand claws desperately at the fabric of the ridiculous shirt Cisco is still wearing. It's infuriating Cisco is wearing anything at all, but the return of Cisco's "KEEP CALM AND HAN SHOT FIRST" t-shirt is especially offensive to Hartley, and he has to wonder if Cisco wore it today on purpose because he knows how much Hartley dislikes mass marketed pop culture internet memes — that, and it was the shirt Cisco was wearing when they first met, which is only a reminder of the crippling betrayal he would inevitably be shown by someone he thought he loved and loved him in return.

But Harrison Wells is the _last_ person Hartley wants to be thinking about right now, not when Cisco Ramon is on top of him and still fully clothed. "I don't know what your plan is, Cisco," he breathes, and for once it's actually the truth. Hartley has no idea why Cisco is here _now_ , instigating something he's not entirely sure Cisco has ever done before in his life — virgin reeks from every inch of him, not that Hartley particularly cares because as long as Cisco sees this through to the end, it doesn't really matter how good he is. Hartley may have had better, but he's had much worse, too. "But if you're going to fuck me, you're going to need to get rid of a few pieces of clothing first."

Cisco pulls away from Hartley's neck to stare down at him, unimpressed by Hartley's constant condescension. But giving Hartley a piece of his mind about the way he clearly doesn't respect him isn't why Cisco is here; if that were the case, Hartley wouldn't be on his back half naked and half hard. "Where's your lube," Cisco demands instead, a statement rather than a question that sends an unexpected but not unwanted chill down Hartley's spine.

"That's more like it," Hartley says, the corners of his mouth drawing into a smirk. He nods to the dresser on his left. "In the drawer. You pick, I've got _all_ kinds." He's got a few other things in there, too, most of which he assumes Cisco would have no idea how to use, but if this ends up being more than a one time thing — Hartley can already say without a doubt that Cisco is intoxicating and addictive in a different way entirely than Harrison Wells was; Cisco's heart and honesty is what sets him apart and draws Hartley in like a moth to a flame — there's still plenty of time to _teach_ him.

Cisco climbs over Hartley, who takes his moment of freedom to remove his shirt and kick his pants all the way off. He stares at Cisco in near awe when he finally pulls off his stupid shirt and tosses it on the floor unceremoniously. Hartley only wishes his carpet were an incinerator so he'd never have to see that godawful shirt again, let alone on Cisco. If Hartley had any say in the matter, he'd burn Cisco's entire wardrobe and take him shopping for _real_ clothes, but as much as Hartley hates to admit it, Cisco's awful nerd attire is part of his charm, somehow.

At least he finally has the decency to take off his pants before climbs back over to Hartley with a small bottle of lube in his hand. "Spread your legs," Cisco commands, even though his voice wavers slightly, nerves starting to kick in, no doubt — but comply is all Hartley can do when Cisco sounds so _affirmative_ , so demanding. Cisco shifts closer, running his hands over Hartley's thighs, pushing them further apart, as he sits back with his own legs tucked under him. 

It takes a lot of self control not to lose it entirely when Cisco touches him like that, to keep up the perfectly constructed facade of a boy who has everything under control even when he has absolutely nothing under control. He's always supposed to be three steps ahead of Cisco, always outsmarting him just when he thinks he's won. But all of that is completely lost when Cisco's hands, rough and calloused as they are from years of working with mechanics, make contact with his thighs. Hartley's eyelids flutter, but it's the most reaction Hartley is willing to deign until Cisco's cock is deep inside of him and he forgets everything except Cisco's name.

"You _do_ know what you're doing, right?" Hartley asks, eyebrows raised expectantly. Cisco can't be that incompetent, but Hartley can't help but underestimate him, even now. If anything, it's more of a challenge, anyway, because Hartley's already waited too long for this and he needs more than just Cisco grinding against him and leaving a hickey blossoming under his skin to come away satisfied with this situation.

Cisco sneers at him (it's cute how offended he looks, really), and just as if to prove that he does, in fact, know what he's doing, he slicks his fingers with an impressive sort of tenacity and thrusts one into Hartley without any other warning. "Yeah, I _do_ ," he says, his voice low and rough. 

Hartley inhales a shaky breath, hands grabbing at the sheets around him, nodding his approval. "I almost didn't think you had it in you, Cisco," he laughs breathlessly, mouth curved in an open smirk, an invitation for Cisco to do his worst, whatever he thinks that is. Hartley could think of about a hundred different ways he'd want Cisco to fuck him right now, but he'll let Cisco think he's still in charge, for now. 

He lets out another shaky breath when Cisco's finger curls inside of him — and he'll admit, he's a little desperate. Since the accelerator explosion, he hasn't exactly seen a lot of ass outside of the confines of his laptop, too busy scheming and calculating his revenge on Harrison Wells, the man who took him in after his parents kicked him out, left him with nothing, but then turned right around and did exactly the same thing; he realized too late Harrison was just as bad as his parents, if not worse, raising him up as a prodigy, a genius, _the chosen one_ , just to toss him out when a little confession threatened to destroy everything. For his parents, it was just having a gay son; but for _Harrison_ — well, everyone knows how that turned out.

"And I almost didn't think you had it in you to not be a dick," Cisco says, removing his finger and replacing it with two, "but here we are." Cisco at least knows how to talk back, Hartley will give him that — and he almost laughs, but it gets caught in his throat and he gasps instead, followed by a low groan as his hips shift in an attempt to take Cisco's fingers in deeper, despite knowing there's only so far they can go.

"You're right," Hartley admits, which is rare enough on its own that it should take Cisco off guard. "Maybe you should teach me a lesson. Except preferably this time with your dick and _not_ the piercing screaming in my ears." He hasn't forgotten the time Cisco threatened to use his own disability against him, but it's a moot point, really, when they're both naked and Cisco has his fingers working Hartley open at a pace he can only describe as agonizing and awe inspiring all at once.

"Maybe if you'd stop talking for five seconds, I would," Cisco retorts, but, contrary to his statement, he pulls his fingers out and slicks his hand with lube again, stroking his cock for Hartley who can only watch with a certain kind of reverence in his eyes. If he could worship Cisco Ramon, by God, he _would_. Just watching Cisco stroke himself is almost enough to get Hartley off without even touching himself, and he can't help but wonder if this is how Cisco looks when he's at home alone, jacking off to whatever weird nerd porn he no doubt watches, or if he's ever been the subject of Cisco's fantasies. 

Hartley would never admit to Cisco being the subject of the majority of his fantasies, nor would he admit to gasping Cisco's name on more than a few occasions when he was a little too drunk to remember the name of the stranger pounding into him, probably wishing Hartley was someone else, too.

"Five," Hartley says, his voice seemingly breaking the trance Cisco let himself fell into. Hartley only hopes Cisco was thinking about how to best fuck him until the only word Hartley can say is _Cisco, Cisco, Cisco_.

Cisco shifts backwards on his knees, aligning himself with one hand while the other wraps around Hartley's ankle. Hartley stares at him intently, silently daring him to thrust into him hard and without mercy, but of course Cisco does exactly the opposite — probably on purpose, though Hartley doubts Cisco is aware of just how _bad_ Hartley has wanted this (or how bad Hartley has tried to deny it to himself). Cisco might be on his level intellectually when it comes to physics and mechanical engineering, but he really shouldn't go back to trying to play private eye anytime soon; his observational skills aren't any better now than they were then.

Hartley arches into Cisco, a low moan rumbling in the back of this throat as he fists his hands into the sheets. He hasn't felt this good in a long time, and two years ago he certainly never would have believed it would be because of Cisco Ramon, someone Hartley was convinced was only hired as his replacement. But even Hartley knows no one could _really_ replace him — Harrison can try all he likes and wave the Flash in his face until the only colors Hartley can see are red and yellow, but the Flash is only as fast as his feet can carry him; he'll never truly be able to keep up with Harrison Wells when it comes to the dangerous games he plays with people's hearts and lives.

"God," he exhales. " _Fuck me_." But Cisco doesn't listen, as usual, and it's like he takes pride in watching Hartley squirm underneath him. It's fair, at least, after everything Hartley has done; he'll admit he deserves this, deserves the way Cisco leans into him, slowly rocking his hips back and forth like the ebb and flow of calm waves on a beach, teasing him unrelentingly. Then again, Hartley asked for this, didn't he? _You're not leaving until I'm screaming your name and begging for more._

"Say it again," Cisco demands, his hips rolling to a stop while his other hand begins to slowly, carefully stroke Hartley's cock, already dripping with precum. "Say it as many ways as you know how. _Beg_ for it, or I _will_ leave, and you won't be able to stop me."

Normally, Hartley would laugh at Cisco's audacity to think he _couldn't_ stop him from doing anything, but Cisco is the one with his cock buried inside of Hartley, his hand around Hartley's dick, and the last thing Hartley wants is for Cisco to _leave_. He's tired of being thrown away as soon as he opens himself up, as soon as he bares himself, figuratively or otherwise. If Cisco really wants him to beg, he'll beg. He's not willing to lose this one, not when Cisco has inadvertently and obliviously been putting the broken pieces of Hartley Rathaway back together. Hartley won't thank him for it, because he never asked for this, any of this, but he won't let Cisco slip through his fingers like he's so far let everything else in his life.

" _Fuck me_ ," he says again, a desperate growl from the back of his throat. " _Baise-moi, pedicabo me, trakhni menya, fick mich, cógeme_ — god, Cisco, _please_."

"That's more like it," Cisco says smugly, and he seems more proud of the fact that he actually got Hartley to say _please_ than the fact that Hartley rattled off six different versions of _fuck me_. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he continues, and Hartley can't even bring himself to care that Cisco is trying to give him a taste of his own condescension (truthfully, it doesn't work very well for Cisco, but Hartley will allow him this one small victory). Cisco strokes his hand carefully up the shaft of Hartley's cock, his thumb rubbing circles around the head. "But you are," is the last thing Cisco says before his hips rock hard into Hartley, who can only throw his head back and arch further into Cisco, clawing at the sheets and wishing he were clawing at Cisco's bare back, leaving bright red marks down the length of his spine. 

" _Cisco_ — ah," Hartley moans, and it's practically a _whine_ , undignified and completely uncharacteristic of the refined and superior image he presents to the general public. This is what Cisco reduces him to, a pathetic and desperate mess, still trying to find the one thing he's wanted more than anything in his life that has always managed to elude him or be ripped away from him just when it was within an arm's reach. He hates that Cisco makes him _feel_ things he's never felt for anyone else, not even Harrison Wells. Whatever he thought he had with Harrison was all a lie, anyway — but this, with Cisco, _this_ is real; and it's _this_ , whatever it is, that Hartley has always craved. 

He won't call it love. If he's honest, he has no idea what the word _love_ means, nor does he understand romance or the point of any of it. It's the physical he's drawn to, and the intellect, the ability to beat him at his own game. Cisco could have given up at any point over the past few years, but if there's one thing about Cisco he'll admit to being impressed by, it's his resilience, the fact that he's never once stopped playing Hartley's little game — what that _actually_ means in terms of feelings and the status of their relationship Hartley wouldn't be able to tell you. But he _does_ know he doesn't want it to stop, any of this; he wants _Cisco_ , all of him, even the annoying parts (which are more abundant than not), and he doesn't care how he _feels_ , he just _knows_. 

When Cisco shifts, hands abandoning Hartley entirely to give him better support to lean in over him, hips rolling frantically against each other, Hartley takes it upon himself to drag Cisco in, their mouths connecting sloppily, heatedly, and without any regard for precision or accuracy. It's enough to have Cisco's mouth anywhere near his, and it's even better to have his fingers buried in Cisco's hair, nails raking against his scalp and tugging at the hair and the base of Cisco's neck. 

He nearly screams into Cisco's mouth, fingers dragging across the line of Cisco's shoulder blade as Cisco thrusts in deep and all Hartley can feel is the weight of Cisco on top of him and the girth of Cisco inside of him. He can barely even remember where he is, despite being in his own room; _Cisco_ is the only thing that matters, the only thing that Hartley can focus on — and, for once, the ringing in his ears is nearly silent when all he can hear is their breathing, heavy and erratic; their moans and grunts and gasps; and his own heartbeat, pounding so loud in his ears it's a wonder Cisco can't hear it, too. 

"Fuck, _Cisco_ ," Hartley breathes against Cisco's mouth, and the sound Hartley makes next is muffled by Cisco capturing his mouth again, impatient, hungrily. Hartley knows he won't be able to take much more of this, not with the way Cisco is thrusting into him, his abdomen stroking Hartley's cock with every frantic and desperate movement. "Cisco," he says again, a breath almost like a prayer. His fingers curl tighter into Cisco's hair, just as they dig deeper into the ridges of Cisco's spine. "Ah —" His hips buck into Cisco, the muscles of his abdomen twitching as he rides out his orgasm, never once loosening his grip, afraid that if he doesn't keep a firm hold of Cisco, he'll lose him now just like he's lost everything else. "Don't stop," he pleads. "Don't stop." 

Cisco doesn't, not until after Hartley can feel the warmth of Cisco's orgasm, not until after they're both breathing heavily against each other, spent and exhausted. He doesn't leave, either; Hartley half expected him to bail as soon as they both wound down, not wanting to stay for the afterglow, but he doesn't. He stays — and while they don't say much, or anything at all, falling asleep next to Cisco is a small comfort Hartley's not entirely sure he deserves ... but, then, he supposes that's just another surprise he might not hate so much. 


End file.
